Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry Assignment 12

Potions Task 1: Write about someone feeling under the weather.

Word count will be at end.


In all the years that Draco has known Harry, even before they had gotten together, he had never witnessed Harry sick.

So when he had woken up to the sound of someone vomiting in the bathroom, he knew something was wrong. Having rolled over, he noticed that Harry wasn't next to him, which made him crease his eyebrows.

"Harry?" he called, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Bathroom," he heard before the sound of vomiting was heard again. There was a groan and the toilet flushed before he heard the sink run water. He climbed out of bed just as the bathroom door opened and his boyfriend stepped out, pallor paler than it usually was.

"Harry, are you okay?" He made his way over to him, placing a hand on Harry's forehead. He frowned as he pulled his hand away. "You're burning up."

"I don't feel good," Harry muttered, eyes glassy with fever.

"Right, come on, back to bed you get," Draco told him.

Draco helped him back into the bed, making sure the bed covers were placed over him. "I'll be right back," he murmured in his ear before he left the room.

Racing to the kitchen, he called, "Killa!"

There was a pop and a house elf appeared, wearing the mixed clothes of the Potter and Malfoy families. She had the crests of both families pinned on her dress and she wore a tiny bow on her head as well. "Yes, Mister Draco?" she asked squeakily.

"Can you get me a bowl with cool water and a rag? Oh, and please tell Hermione that Harry won't be going to work today."

"Yes, Mister Draco!" She bowed, ears flopping, and then popped out.

He smiled to himself then made his way to a cupboard that held all the potions that were stocked in case of emergencies. He opened it and rummaged through them gently, aha-ing when he found what he needed. Closing it, he held the potion up to his face and studied it closely.

A pepperup potion.

With a hum, he made his way out of the kitchen and back to the bedroom, where Killa was placing a wet rag on Harry's forehead. He heard Harry's pleaded sigh as he entered the room.

He gave Killa a smile and told her, "Thank you, Killa. I'll call on you again if I need you, alright?"

"Yes, Mister Draco! Killa bes making some soup for Mister Harry, if that bes What Mister Draco wants Killa to bes doings?"

"Yes, please, Killa. That would be very much appreciated."

She bowed again and popped out of the room.

He sat on the bed beside Harry, brushing his fringe off of the wet cloth. Harry's eyes were closed, scrunched shut like he was in pain. His lips were parted slightly, chest moving slowly with each breath he took. His skin was pale against his lashes, sweat beading and running down his face.

"Oh, Harry," he whispered.

Harry whimpered again, coughing, before turning in his side and vomiting into the bucket Draco had barely managed to conjure.

"Let's get you better, yeah?" he murmured quietly, opening Harry's mouth. Harry tried to shy away and close it. "No, no," he admonished. "You need to take a pepperup, so you'll get better, okay?"


After many hours of Harry vomiting, not being able to keep food down, and sleeping the day away, he managed to get better.

"Man," he told Draco, "I was really sick. I've never gotten that sick before."

"You've been sick before?"

"Of course, Dray. Who hasn't?"

Draco never told him that he had been worried he was going to die.

Maybe that was for another day.


[word count: 619]